


Marked

by queerlyobscure (softestpunk)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Biting, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Marking, Married Couple, Possessive Behavior, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/queerlyobscure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, Astrid accepted and tolerated her husband's need to mark her. But as time goes on, she begins to love all the things her marks imply. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org) prompt "possession/marking".

The white-hot pain of sharp teeth sinking into her neck makes Astrid's whole body tense as if to run away. Unlike some, pain for the sake of pain does not interest her; but Arnbjorn is her husband and she has sworn that she would accept every part of him. This time, the first time Arnbjorn has trusted himself to let a little of the wolf out, she will be nothing but encouraging, no matter how she cannot help the tears at the corner of her eyes. She will tend to the wound later and allow it to scar, since Arnbjorn has nothing but her in the world and she would not deny him this one mark of possession.

***

Arnbjorn leaves scratch marks on her back often. At some point, they have become more precious to her than all of the gentle kisses in the world. They are neither of them gentle souls, built more for violence than love, but she loves him anyway. There is a mirror in their new home, positioned so that she can see all of her back if she looks into her own tiny, rusted hand mirror. Now, the fresh scratches of the night before burn into her skin, making her fevered and needy. Arnbjorn is long gone, hunting for the evening meal and, she knows, working out some of the wolf's more violent urges.

She imagines him here anyway, closing her eyes and slipping a hand between her legs. Her otner hand goes to the scar on her neck, the smooth-rough skin left behind as a reminder of earlier days. She gasps as she touches it this time, the thought of the power it took to make it, the control it took not to make it worse. That Arnbjorn would never mark another like this.

Heat curls in her stomach as she presses down on the mark, her fingers twisting and rubbing harder. How was this the first time she’d thought of it like this?

***

Arnbjorn’s hands are rough tonight. The newcomer, charming, attractive, flirty, has kicked off his possessive instincts towards her, Astrid knows. And for the first time, she’s enjoying it. Bruises on her arms, her thighs, her hips, all points of sensitivity setting her on fire. She moans under every touch, responsive enough that Arnbjorn takes pause even in his need.

“Astrid?” He pants, blinking at her through dark eyes.

“Bite me again,” she whispers. Arnbjorn hesitates, then traces the old scar, making her gasp and writhe under him. He nods, pushes his cock inside her roughly enough that she will bruise there, too, and that seems fitting. Rebuilding the Brotherhood is a new stage in their life, and they should start it like this, sure of their connection to one another.

She cries out at the pain this time, bucking her hips up, demanding more, and Arnbjorn responds with a harder thrust of his own, bites down so that the pressure releases and her neck is suddenly wet, blood flowing from the newly-opened wound and her husband lapping at it, sharing her life force.

Without thought, Astrid takes hold of Arnbjorn’s head and pulls herself up, her own, more delicate teeth digging in to the flesh of his neck. A dangerous thing to do to a wolf, perhaps, but she knows he won’t hurt her. Has never hurt her, in all their years, even in their worst moments, Arnbjorn has never caused her harm. She knows better than to drink his blood, tempting as the possibility is, but leaves her own bruise all the same as Arnbjorn roars and bites down again, coming inside her even as she tenses around him, overwhelmed tears leaking from her eyes in a neat reflection of the last time they did this.

This time, it is she who whispers ‘mine’.


End file.
